Consent and why it matters
Consent for me was a turning point. Or should I say, understanding consent was a turning point.
Before this point I was struggling to accept that I was actually sexually assaulted. I thought that I'd had an experience that I defined as bad, but objectively... well, it wasn't that bad. Things like this happen all the time, don't they? Guys and girls kiss. They go a bit further and a bit further, and...
Well, then it was okay wasn't it.
Well, no it wasn't. It wasn't okay because there was no consent.
You see, I'd just started dating a guy. He'd been a good friend for about a year. There had never been any physical touch. We were clearly friends. But, someone said to us that they'd never seen a girl and a guy be such good friends and not be in a relationship. So we thought about it. Neither of us was convinced. I wasn't ready for a relationship really. But, I could see my friend's logic.
So we decided to give it a go.
He invited me to go and stay with his brother and him. He told me that his brother lived with some Christian girls and I could stay with them. We'd go to a concert and then I could go home the next day. Great, I thought.
So, I packed my bags and went. I was picked up by him and his brother at the station and then went to his brother's house. I met his brother's housemates and found out where I'd be sleeping that night. We had a cup of tea and chat and then... Well... everyone left. Everyone. left.
What was happening? I'd been alone with my now boyfriend before, so no worries, right? But, it didn't feel right. There was something that felt dark, scary.
He told me to go and sit on the sofa. Why? Well, I went...
He then held my hand and started kissing me. When I say kissing, I mean top level, intimate kissing. Can't get your breath kissing. I was stunned. I was in free fall from there. The next minute I was led on my back on the sofa, he was on top of me, I couldn't move and he was writhing on top of me.
Time slowed.
Time stopped.
It ended.
I got up, walked to the bathroom in a daze and cried and cried.
Consent. Why does it matter?
Well, until I understood it, I told myself that what happened was okay. I told myself that I shouldn't feel bad. I was 20 years old. I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I let it happen. So surely I had no right to be sad? I had no right to the pain I was feeling.
But, I phoned a helpline and someone helped me to see that consent wasn't given. I was not able to show my agreement and that made sense of the pain.
Consent was expressed as:
This was so helpful. I realised this didn't happen. I realised I'd been sexually assaulted. And that was the staring point to being able to heal.
I hope that for some of you, this may be the first step to healing. If there was no consent, it was a crime. You were hurt and you shouldn't have gone through that.
Julia x
Before this point I was struggling to accept that I was actually sexually assaulted. I thought that I'd had an experience that I defined as bad, but objectively... well, it wasn't that bad. Things like this happen all the time, don't they? Guys and girls kiss. They go a bit further and a bit further, and...
Well, then it was okay wasn't it.
Well, no it wasn't. It wasn't okay because there was no consent.
You see, I'd just started dating a guy. He'd been a good friend for about a year. There had never been any physical touch. We were clearly friends. But, someone said to us that they'd never seen a girl and a guy be such good friends and not be in a relationship. So we thought about it. Neither of us was convinced. I wasn't ready for a relationship really. But, I could see my friend's logic.
So we decided to give it a go.
He invited me to go and stay with his brother and him. He told me that his brother lived with some Christian girls and I could stay with them. We'd go to a concert and then I could go home the next day. Great, I thought.
So, I packed my bags and went. I was picked up by him and his brother at the station and then went to his brother's house. I met his brother's housemates and found out where I'd be sleeping that night. We had a cup of tea and chat and then... Well... everyone left. Everyone. left.
What was happening? I'd been alone with my now boyfriend before, so no worries, right? But, it didn't feel right. There was something that felt dark, scary.
He told me to go and sit on the sofa. Why? Well, I went...
He then held my hand and started kissing me. When I say kissing, I mean top level, intimate kissing. Can't get your breath kissing. I was stunned. I was in free fall from there. The next minute I was led on my back on the sofa, he was on top of me, I couldn't move and he was writhing on top of me.
Time slowed.
Time stopped.
It ended.
I got up, walked to the bathroom in a daze and cried and cried.
Consent. Why does it matter?
Well, until I understood it, I told myself that what happened was okay. I told myself that I shouldn't feel bad. I was 20 years old. I didn't scream. I didn't fight. I let it happen. So surely I had no right to be sad? I had no right to the pain I was feeling.
But, I phoned a helpline and someone helped me to see that consent wasn't given. I was not able to show my agreement and that made sense of the pain.
Consent was expressed as:
This was so helpful. I realised this didn't happen. I realised I'd been sexually assaulted. And that was the staring point to being able to heal.
I hope that for some of you, this may be the first step to healing. If there was no consent, it was a crime. You were hurt and you shouldn't have gone through that.
Julia x
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